‘And you’d end up in jail,’ Nial Urquart returned. ‘They’re beautiful birds and as Katrina says, they are protected.’
Megan Munro had been seething for a few moments. ‘That’s everyone’s answer to everything here, isn’t it? Kill it! Shoot it! Well, you won’t touch any of the animals in my sanctuary. If you do I’ll have the police on to you straight away.’
‘The police!’ Kenneth McKinley exclaimed with a sarcastic tone. ‘If you can find a police officer on the island you’ll be lucky. They all seem to be disappearing faster than smoke around here.’
Katrina Tulloch spun to face him, her eyes registering disbelief mixed with ire. ‘Kenneth McKinley! You – you insensitive oaf!’ She snapped her glass down on a window ledge, swung her bag onto her shoulder and with an involuntary sob, ran for the door.
Lachlan was about to go after her, but Rhona stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘Let her be, Lachlan,’ she said, as the silence that had momentarily followed Katrina Tulloch’s exit was immediately broken by a cacophony of raised voices.
‘Maybe we ought to break it up,’ the Padre whispered to Rhona. ‘It looks as if there’s going to be a civil war in the Wee Kingdom.’
But before they had time to move, there was a loud rap on the door which was shoved open to reveal Jock McArdle and his two boys. Lachlan noticed that they were all dressed as they had been that morning, except that Jock McArdle was now wearing a pair of wire-framed spectacles and a black blazer on top of his golf clothes.
‘Correction, Padre,’ said Rhona, suddenly stiffening. ‘It might be the start of World War Three. Unless I am mistaken this is the new laird.’
Jock McArdle stood nodding his head at the assembled mourners and took off his wire-framed spectacles. ‘It’s a sad day. A lassie just ran past us as we came in. Greeting her eyes out she was.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and swiftly and noisily blew his nose, then, ‘For those of you who don’t know me, and I think that is probably you all except for the Padre there, I am Jock McArdle.’ He paused for a moment, then added emphatically, ‘I am the new laird of Dunshiffin.’
Rhona was the first to say anything. ‘You will have come to pay your respects to Gordon MacDonald. That’s good of you, Laird. Would you and your sons like a drink?’
Jock McArdle stared at her in bemusement for a moment as his two minders smirked. He shook his head. ‘Oh no, these are my boys, but not my sons,’ he replied cryptically. ‘But a drink would be good, thank you. And I thought that this would be a good time to meet my tenants. A good opportunity to let you know a few of my ideas.’
The Padre being used to organizing groups introduced everyone while Rhona poured drinks.
‘We are not all here, though,’ Rhona said, as she lit another cigarette. ‘Vincent Gilfillan is doing business on behalf of the Wee Kingdom Community in Benbecula and the Morrison family have gone – off somewhere. You will be meeting them in due course I am thinking.’
‘What about Gordon MacDonald’s croft, Laird?’ Kenneth McKinley asked.
Alistair McKinley gave his son a poke in the ribs. ‘My son has pre-empted me, Mr McArdle. I was going to make an appointment to see you. We have some business I need to ask you about.’
Jock McArdle shoved his hands into his golf trousers and stood facing the old crofter. ‘Ask away. I am here now.’
Alistair McKinley cleared his throat. ‘Could my son here take on the lease for the Wind’s Eye croft? Gordon MacDonald died without issue and it is traditional that the holding—’
‘No!’ the new laird replied emphatically. ‘He cannot take it on.’
‘And why not?’ Kenneth McKinley demanded, heatedly.
‘The holding will not be re-leased.’
Rhona McIvor removed her cigarette holder from her mouth. ‘You are not serious! The Wee Kingdom Community has always had the right to pass on the holdings to family or appointed heirs.’
‘I am rescinding that right,’ the laird replied, removing a hand from his pocket and languidly taking his glass of whisky from Liam Sartori. ‘It will not be the case in the future.’
‘Are you sure that is legal, Mr McArdle?’ the Padre put in.
‘Oh it is absolutely legal, I assure you, Padre,’ McArdle returned, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles. ‘I have had my lawyers check over the original agreement. If any of the holders had ever taken the trouble to research it they would have seen that it was written up in such a way as to give the laird the right to do whatever he wanted with the land, subject to certain minor restrictions.’
‘Lairds! I knew this would happen!’ barked Kenneth McKinley. He made for the door, but found his way barred by Liam Sartori and Danny Reid. He squared up to them.
‘Out of my way! Now!’
Neither seemed inclined to move, the same challenging grin having appeared on each of the two minders’ faces.
‘Let him pass,’ McArdle barked. Then once the younger McKinley had stomped out he turned back to the assembly. ‘I will be putting up several wind installations on this croft in the next few days.’ He grinned patronizingly. ‘It will be good for the whole island, you will see it will.’
Rhona had been standing beside the Padre, her face getting whiter and whiter as anger seethed inside her. ‘We’ll not permit this. We will fight you.’
‘That is not recommended, Rhona,’ he replied smugly.
‘You will not break up the Wee Kingdom Community. If you do, it will be over my dead body.’
Liam Sartori sniggered.
Rhona saw him and made to cross the room towards him. ‘You young whelp! I’ll teach you—’
She had taken two steps then suddenly halted, clutching at her chest before collapsing on the floor.
Lachlan was by her side instantly, feeling for a pulse. His face was like thunder as he turned and rattled out the order, ‘Somebody call Dr McLelland. Now!’
chapter three
The Macbeth ferry The Laird o’ the Isles slowly loomed out of the morning mist and manoeuvred into the crescent-shaped harbour of Kyleshiffin. As the great landing doors slowly and noisily descended to allow the walking passengers to disembark before the inevitable cavalcade of traffic, Sergeant Morag Driscoll blew into her hands and stamped her feet. She felt cold and shivery, and not just because of the outside temperature. She was waiting for her boss, Inspector Torquil McKinnon, to return to the island after his extended leave. And she did not relish the news that she had to give him.
‘Morag! I thought I would find you here,’ came the Padre’s booming voice. She turned to see Torquil’s uncle hurrying along the harbour to join her, his mane of white hair blown awry.
‘Lachlan, have you been on that motor bike of yours without a helmet again?’ she chided him with a smile. ‘You know full well it’s the law.’
‘Och Morag Driscoll, I was in a hurry to meet Torquil. He’s been away a good long while, you know.’
‘I know, Padre, and I was just teasing.’ Her face became serious again. ‘How is Rhona?’
Lachlan clicked his tongue. ‘As well as can be expected. Doctor McLelland has her trussed up with wires all over the place and a monitor that bleeps every second. There’s a no-smoking policy in the cottage hospital and she’s threatening to discharge herself because of that alone. She hasn’t had a cigarette since the wake yesterday. That’s an age and a half for Rhona.’